


Rotten

by YdrittE



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: (if you squint really hard), Anxiety, Body Dysphoria, Character Study, Emotionally Repressed, Gen, Social Anxiety, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YdrittE/pseuds/YdrittE
Summary: It’s a fire that eats him up from the inside, invisible, where nobody can see. It fills his fingertips and crawls behind his eyes. It plants all these nasty thoughts inside his head, those fantasies of putting his hands around a throat and twisting.





	Rotten

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah sure, I have still tons of stuff to do for crack week, let's write something completely pointless instead. Great idea.

_It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts._

What does?

Nothing.

Nothing hurts like this.

Too scared to ask, and too angry to let it slide.

_Why can you do this, and I can’t? Why is this so unfair?_

It’s a fire that eats him up from the inside, invisible, where nobody can see. It fills his fingertips and crawls behind his eyes. It plants all these nasty thoughts inside his head, those fantasies of putting his hands around a throat and _twisting_.

_What is wrong with me?_

The VR simulation isn’t enough. A thousand virtual monsters aren’t enough. The only thing that would help would be to speak the words, to be honest and say what is bothering him… but he can’t. His brain digs in its heels and refuses, and so he stays silent.

The noise in his head grows, humming turning to shouting and then to screeching, and he doesn’t know how to make it shut up. He snaps at a second class for no reason at all, and then cringes in guilt for the rest of the day.

_I didn’t mean to be so rude. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me._

For several weeks the storm brews inside him, occasionally revealing itself when he loses his composure and lashes out at people. He grinds his teeth and wants to punch a wall, scream his lungs out until he tastes copper. But he knows he can’t. There is no place in the entire world where he could be far away enough from people to let go. He needs to hold it in. He needs to keep the mask in place. The mask is the only thing saving him from himself.

So he keeps going, and tries to ignore the way his neck crawls when he imagines people looking at him, seeing his flaws, and silently ridiculing him. How some of them look at places on his body that are _inappropriate_ , and think of his body without clothes. He wants to run, and tear off his skin, and never let anyone see him again so they will leave him be. He wants out of this body that doesn’t seem to fit.

The spiral continues. And then suddenly, it just… stops.

He wakes up one morning, and the screeching has gone silent. He walks the corridors, and his skin doesn’t crawl. He talks to his subordinates, and his mood doesn’t turn sour.

He doesn’t understand it.

But it comes back, like he knew it would. It always does. No matter how long the times of peace may be, the chaos and confusion and all the violent fantasies will return, stronger than ever, knocking the air out of him with how much _hatred_ he suddenly feels, for no reason, with no explanation. He hates and hates and hates, despising the people he calls his friends and being too much of a coward to admit it to them.

They know, he thinks, they must know. They must see it in his eyes, feel it in the way his sword thrusts are always just a little too strong for a mere spar. How he revels in every little victory he earns, and stands silently and grinding his teeth whenever they find glory. How he twists the words to secretly reveal their true meaning, and hoping that they will never look close enough to notice.

He hates, and envies, and seethes. And smiles as soon as they turn around to look at him, once again pulling the mask over his face to hide just how ugly he is inside. If they ever see, they will leave him, and that will be the death of him.

Because no matter how much he pushes people away and acts cold, the terror of being abandoned will always be stronger than whatever else his broken mind can conjure up.


End file.
